(S^Zt^t, A^A &-£-*. ^^U^Y p^cyLa^^f Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum Library and Archives http://www.archive.org/details/jacquesvillonrayOOsolo Marcel Duchamp, Jacques Villon, Raymond Duchamp-Villon, Puteaux, igi: JACQUES VILLON RAYMOND DUCHAMP-VILLON MARCEL DUCHAMP r 957 January 8 to February 17 The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York The Museum of Fine Arts of Houston March 8 to April 8 Printed in Switzerland by StSmprli & Cie., Berne, 1956. Foreword There is one feature which is strikingly characteristic of the art of the three brothers Jacques Villon, Raymond Duchamp -Villon and Marcel Duchamp. Juan Gris, the most rationalistic, but at the same time one of the greatest of the cubist painters, used to say : ' One must be inexact, but precise.' This is one of the essential qualities of poetry. It is what gives the effect of poetry to painting and sculpture. It is the common factor—perhaps the only one— which links the very dissimilar work of these markedly different artists. At the same time, however, this maintenance of the 'inexact, but precise' in the art of these three brothers has its roots in a basic similarity of approach. Each in his own way sought to work out a tightly reasoned mode of pictorial or sculptural expression. Each seemed particularly careful to avoid any concession on his part to the emotions. Art for all three was fundamentally intellectual, scientific and only secondarily sensuous. Jacques Villon saw painting as 'a method of prospecting, a manner of expression. With color as bait/ with drawing as the fisherman^s line, painting, he has stated, ' brings up from the unknown, inexhaustible depths, possibilities barely suspected; it leads them step by step to the plane of human consciousness, and there, with subtlety, this tenuous material crystallizes'. This 'step by step' progress with Villon involves the conception of color on the part of the artist 'as a weight in the scale of the emotions' which increases 'when Red, Blue and Yellow are in the required balance as dictated by the chromatic scale'. 'Colors become values which through their interplay... produce a state of receptiveness.' Villon's science of expression goes further to involve an adaptation of Leonardo's theories in his Treatise on Painting on 'the influence of the pyramid': 'This is the art of painting by pyramids, the forms and colors of the observed objects. I say "by pyramids", for there is no object however small which is not larger than the point where these pyramids meet. Therefore, if you take the lines at the extremities of each body and if you continue them to a single point, they will converge into the pyramidal form.' 'By superimposing on the painting this pyramidal form,' Villon adds, 'one gives it a density in which the interaction of echoing colors produces depth— a depth creating space.' Raymond Duchamp -Villon, the sculptor brother, in a letter to Walter Pach in January 191 3, discussing what would be necessary if a style reflective of the period were to be found for contemporary architecture, explained his viewpoint that we should not try to adapt the forms and lines of even the characteristic objects of our time. This he felt 'would only be a trans- position of these lines and forms to other materials and therefore an error'. We should rather fill our minds tirelessly 'with the relationships of these objects among themselves in order to interpret them in synthetic lines, planes and volumes which shall, in their turn, equilibrate in rhythms analogous to those which surround us\ This was Duchamp -Villon's science of expression through which he attempted to achieve his precision of correlation and at the same time avoid exactitude. We have a clear illustration of it in his last major work The Horse. 'At the beginning, the problem,' as Mr. Pach points out, 'had been that of movement— the gallop or trot of the horse.' Innumerable naturalistic studies were made. 'Then came the allusion, more and more evident to the machine and to the analogy of the two forces. . .' This grew from version to version until the realization of the final sculpture which is inexact both as an image of a horse and as an image of a machine, but which, in its fresh organization of precise sculptural relationships stands as an independent composition of forms suggesting both horse and machine. Finally in Marcel Duchamp's La Mariee mise a nu par ses celibataires, meme we find no pretention whatsoever to exactitude, but a strict and demanding precision in every millimeter of sur- face to the point of satirizing scientific precision through the nonsensical physical science of the Large Glass — its 'Pataphysique', as Duchamp himself has said, employing Alfred Jarry's word. But this base of nonsensical physical science in the organization of the iconography serves a purpose in Duchamp's glass similar to that which the anecdotal order provides in Lewis Carroll's Alice and Through the Looking Glass. Possibly there is even an added relationship in the chess player habit of mind in both Carroll and Duchamp. This is the ground on which the work of the three brothers Villon, Duchamp -Villon and Marcel Duchamp have their closest link, this consciousness of the importance for art to be ' inexact, but precise ' and their realization of this in their work. But beyond this all three have made their individual contributions to the esthetic shape of our age. Jacques Villon, the oldest, is in a sense the youngest of the three— both in the spirit of his latest work and in his productivity. Although Villon was associated with the cubists as early as 191 1 his work has always kept a distinctive, personal character. His fugal concept of color composition gives his canvases a much more lyric tone than that of his colleagues of the great years of the movement. They are more luminous, less architectural in organization. And possibly his emphasis on light effects is what gives his paintings today the air of youthfulness, of con- temporaneity in our period. Another feature of Villon's cubism notably personal to him is the sensibility of his portraits. It is doubtful if any cubist portrait can compare in sentimental evocation or humanity of sug- gestion with Villon's Portrait of his Father, 1924, to name only one of a long series of eloquent portrayals. In The Horse Duchamp -Villon has left one of the master works of European sculpture of the first two decades of the twentieth century. It achieves the metaphor in sculpture in a way that few artists have excelled. It pointed to a new field of expression that its creator was amply fitted to explore had he had the opportunity to do so. The small sketch Portrait of Professor Gosset, barely more than an artist's note, done just before his death hinted at the direction in which the power, drama and sense of form which he embodied in his 1911 Baudelaire might have been carried to new heights. But The Horse in itself remains a life work and a period's achievement. Of the three brothers Marcel Duchamp perhaps left the deepest impress on his time. In fact few painters in any period have contributed as widely to the intellectual texture of their time as Duchamp has. As a painter his achievement was concluded by 191 5, but as an artist in a much wider sense his work goes on today. His earliest official showings took place in the cubist years before the first World War; his Young Man in a Train, Nude descending a Stair- case, King and Queen surrounded by Swift Nudes, were painted in the years Futurism was still not too far in the past to have its interest; his 'ready-mades' were disclosed to a mystified world when Dada was striving energetically for less profoundly disturbing effects. Between the demise of Dada and the flowering of surrealism Duchamp was looked to as a leader, even as he was when it was necessary to find someone to inspire and direct the installation of the Sur- realist exhibition in Paris in 1938 and in New York in 1942. Painting is only one aspect of art in Duchamp's view. 'I have always had a horror of being a "professional" painter,' he will explain. 'The minute you become that you are lost.' This is a temptation to which Duchamp has never succumbed. For all that he remains in one sense a painter's painter— or more correctly an artist's artist. He feels that since the time of Im- pressionism the visual creations of painters for the greater part have had no deeper commu- nication than to the retina of the observer. Impressionism, fauvism, cubism, abstract art have all been 'retinal' painting. 'Their preoccupations have all been physical, the reactions of colors and the like, always relegating to second place intellectual responses.' What Duchamp felt was needed in the twentieth century was new hospitality to the mind on the part of the artist and the public. Painting was more than a mere physical experience. The sensuous was part but not the first part nor the greater part of a work of art or of its appeal. The recall of the intelligence to painting and sculpture— a fuller and richer art was Marcel Duchamp's ideal. He felt that 'taste' had too long ruled tyrannously without right. 'The great aim of my life,' he has said, 'has been a reaction against taste'. The great merit of surrealism in Duchamp's opinion is that it attempted to go beyond a simple satisfaction of the eye— 'the halt at the retina'. But he adds, T did not want to be understood as saying that it is necessary to recall the anecdote in painting. Men such as Seurat and Mon- drian were not mere "retinals", even though to a superficial view they may have had the air of being so.' — Nor was Duchamp himself in his paintings before he turned to 'ready-mades' and his Large Glass; nor Duchamp -Villon in his Baudelaire or The Horse; nor Jacques Villon in any of his fullest work— his best portraits, /<?//, or his abstractions of the early twenties. All three when they succeeded in being 'inexact, but precise', penetrate deep beyond the retina to that area of judgment which alone can enjoy and appreciate the tension between the inexact and the precise in a work of art. James Jo hnso n Sweeney Jacques Villon «Soldicrs on the March » 191 3 Oil 25 5 / fi X3 6 V4" Galcric Louis Carre, Paris Jacques Villon «Game» T919 Oil 36 1 / 4 X28 3 / 4 Galcric Louis Carre, Pari Jacques Villon «GalIop» 1921 Oil I7 3 /4X 3i 7 /s Galerie Louis Carre, Paris Jacques Villon « Color perspective)) 1921 Oil 2I 3 / 8 X28 5 / 8 " Collection The Solomon R.Guggenheim Museum, New York. Gift, Kathcrinc S. Drcicr Estate Jacques Villon «Withdra\val» 1921 Oil 28 3 / 4 X36 1 / 4 " Galcrie Louis Carre, Paris - Jacques Villon ((Portrait of Artist's Father* 1924 Oil zi'/oXici Collection The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York Jacques Villon « Space » 1932 Oil 45 5 / 8 X35' GaJcrie Louis Carr£, Paris Jacques Villon «Blindman's Buff» 1942 Oil 3i 7 /8X25 5 /s" Collection Mr. and Mrs. c harks X.ulok. MiKv.iukc Jacques Villon « Self Portrait » 1942 Oil 36 1 / 1 X25 5 / 8 Collection Mr. and Mrs. Francis Stccgmullcr, New York Silent journey For Villon, Cubism meant the conquest of a purity impossible to attain without that interior struggle which both the Impressionists and the Fauves were unwilling to make. He sponta- neously made the most effective criticism of their weaknesses. The world with its first day freshness which they all tried to recreate was not made of soft vapours and effervescent patches. Throughout this whole period Villon avoided needless temptations and closed himself up in a meditation, the spirit of which was already determined by his austere palette, where grays predominated. After the war in which he served in a camouflage unit— the destiny of painters— Villon came back to a rather lonely life. Engraving assured his financial independence and he continued his researches which tended to increase the spiritual intensity of the painting. The ten years from 1923 to 1933 were devoted to probing deeply into these problems; his concern to de- fend the inherent quality of the work led him to join those artists whose rule is to avoid any anecdotal element, knowing that « Le sens trop precis rature Ta vague litter at ure ». But the moment when Villon yielded to this extent to the charms of abstraction was also the moment when he surrendered to color and cultivated a sumptuousness which until that moment he had disdained. He studied the chromatic circle and classified the effective shades into a hierarchy which later was to govern his reactions as a painter. Few careers show so surely that the real problem for the painter is to know how to adapt himself to his discoveries. In his last period, after 1935, Villon, still withdrawn from the hubbub of artistic life, but with a complete mastery of his expression transposed in it new experiences, the most precious of which was a prolonged contact in 1940 with the countryside of the southwest. According to his way of putting it, 'he touched the earth once again'. The harvests, the vintage, the complete georgic cycle which revolves round bread and wine— just as Villon's art revolves round an interest in primary structures and simple colors— now add the final touch of their generosity to the painter's felicitous conquests. A career that is the frank and discreet career of a master of bygone days ; who was it who said of Villon, 'He is another Corot' ? This is profoundly illuminating when one compares the lucid statements of Villon with what Poussin, another Norman sure of himself, wrote in a letter. 'My natural disposition forces me to seek and cherish orderly things, avoiding con- fusion which is as contrary to my nature as is light to obscure gloom.' Patterns of design The themes of the painter are those of us all : the only difference is that of style and intention. An interior may be a palpitation of lights around a piano, on whose keyboard lies an open book: nothing subsists in the elements indispensable for evoking the world of the musician, and to inscribe it within the painting, a rhythm restored by another rhythm. The essential operation, the painter's very own act, is this feeling of loftiness, this sudden capture of dis- tance in which the knowledge of the artist supports his will unequivocally. A black inkpad on a mahogany desk, an armchair before the hearth... the scene is for him only a certain projected force which will animate the painting with a presence as elusive as one may wish, but indestructible. Chance gives the furnishings of a room an air of cohesion which reminds one of the char- acteristics of the human face and the features of a landscape : it is this which holds the painter and which he sublimates with complete liberty. But Villon is less attentive to moments of repose and contemplation than to scenes of move- ment. Poussin, Seurat worked with a similar predilection at organizing difficult scenes, such as did not lend themselves naturally to unity : bacchanales or Sunday crowds. The circus, with its small, multi-colored, bouncing universe, has never ceased to interest him. The ease of the acrobat and of the bare back rider implies a long practice in dislocation and recovery, in which the artist recognizes his own preoccupations. With an almost fraternal tenderness he adorns them with his purest colors and encloses them within his most eloquent lines, as though to represent— what in reality he does represent — the workings of the world. Finally, the human face and landscape have become his major themes. Before his own image in a mirror, caught in the imperious network of reflections, true and false at the same time, man eagerly questions himself. And the calm undertaking of Villon, the certainty of his anal- yses, the luminosity of the precious diamond on which he works, is the answer to the grav- ity of the question. In the portrait of his father, in his self-portraits, he has brought the most astonishing visions of man to a century which fears them, and which he dominates through this special privilege. But, like Poussin and Seurat, he has finally allowed himself to be convinced of the superiority of the landscape to the still life and even the portrait : trees, houses, mountains, the sky, the earth enact a drama or a fairy tale and are characters in it. From it is released a dynamism which has only to be expressed. In the life of the country- side everything is related, is a challenge, an exhilaration; the composition is an incessant movement 'like a battle'. Villon gathers and restores the rhythm of this violence and succession in a way that is almost epic in these series inspired by 'treading the corn' in the Tarn-et-Garonne and by 'threshing' in Normandy. The accent is so liturgical, the light is so pure and intense, that we find the true symbol of elementary life, as if Villon had wished to restore the primitive significance which colors had in the Middle Ages and which they still have in song— red the fire, blue the sky, green the water, ashen the earth; the others only the result of their mixing. This is triumphal art, this festive painting, proceeds from an admirably pure and deliberate draughtsmanship; network of haunting aud regular lines weaves the delicately graded shadows, but between the meshes leaves place for light. It spreads out swift and undulating fasces which could unfold the universe; a piece of bread, the contour of a cheek are simply its acci- dents. The lines take their places, run by, bind all together untiringly, as in the invisible studio where the scene is created. The artist, circumspect, fearful, authoritative, keeps the law and spreads the woof. The result is a song of the Fates, a continual gossip on life, but one which follows a simple and austere rule which makes it loyally bow to the eternal. It is not surprising that one of these drawings portrays a skull, calm and mineral in the tradition of the 'memento mori' of the classics, a spiritual symbol which, like the power of destiny, puts everything in its proper place by a pure act of attention. It has been justly said of Seurat that the systematic spirit so evident in the geometry of his forms, the regular minutiae of his brush stroke, was not in his case at the service of his pride. Lacking the basic and, so to speak, protective assertion of the harmonic rule that he set him- self, the artist would not succeed in making nature give way : for nature surrenders to science what does not speak to the sensations. 'I was the cubist impressionist,' says Villon, 'and I believe that I remain that. Perhaps less cubist, less impressionist, more I do not know what and what I am still seeking.' But in his work we have the answer. It is that he has found it in the celebration of the royal wedding of abstraction and sensibility that perpetuates the legitimate dynasty of French Art. Rene -Jean From Jacques Villon on l' Art G/orieitx. Paris, Louis Carre, 1948 Observations by Jacques Villon What is painting? Painting is a way of prospecting, a form of expression. With color as bait, with drawing as the fish line it pulls up from the inexhaustible gulf of the unknown, possibilities only sur- mised and brings them by successive efforts to the plane of human consciousness. There with subtlety it crystallizes them from the unsubstantial. It expresses the perfume, the spirit, the soul of things of which science only catalogues and explains the outward appearance. How does painting express itself? I have just said, by color within an exacting pictorial structure. Everyone is familiar with the statement of Maurice Denis in which he stressed the fact that a painting before being a 'war horse' or a 'nude woman' is essentially a flat surface covered with colors assembled in a certain order. The Impressionist painters consulted the scientists and little by little pure color came into its own and from the purely decorative realm it entered by the front door into -A.rt. It was a revelation, for color unconcerned with natural tones seeks to express itself by its own means; to express sentiments, no longer sensations. Color is a weight of the scale that weighs the emotions; and this weight increases as Red, Blue, Yellow take their places out of a need for equilibrium which the color cycle dictates to them. Colors become values which through their interplay from the moment of the first chord pro- duce a state ol receptiveness. That state allows the spirit to be carried along by a constrained elan and to succumb to the spell of a work while espousing the rhythm which has controlled its elaboration. Rhythm is the vital design showing through all things. During the construction of the picture and in combination with the first outlines, an influence intervenes which, after da Vinci, might be called 'the influence of the Pyramid'. 'This is the art of painting, by means of pyramids, forms and colors of observed objects. I say "by pyramids", for there is no object however small, which is not larger than the point where these pyramids meet. Therefore, if you take the lines at the extremities of each body, and if you continue them up to a single point, they will have converged into the pyramidal form.' By superimposing on the painting this pyramidal vision, one gives it a density in which the interaction of echoing colors play about in depth— a depth which creates space. You may say : But does not this wealth of color lead to mere fugues ? That can be argued ; for instance, abstract art is a case in point. It gives the artist, if not the spectator, the pleasure of a commander-in-chief maneuvering his battalions of colors. It is also logical to use this wealth of color to magnify all possible themes borrowed from life. For it is life that supplies the hand which notes them down, the eye which classifies these arabesques which retain only the essentials of the themes. It is life which is the true backbone— the keystone of the picture which in its turn becomes a being in its own right— a thing in its own right, no longer an open window. All these reflections are, of course, only reflections ; the main thing, for creating masterpieces is to have genius; one should, however, not disdain these notions; they prevent taste from becoming the sole master. To sum up, for me, the picture is a creation in which the subject— the pretext furnished by a perceived rhythm, expressive of our unconscious life brought to the level of consciousness- is translated into areas of color, into a hierarchy of colored planes ; the whole is bound to- gether by an arabesque, closely incorporated into the basic division of the canvas where all elements are brought into balance. From Jacques Villon. Editions de Beaune, Paris, 1950 r w ,.■ .<■* ■■ t . ■••■.■''.■ , flt'ffom Jacques Villon « Landscape with Black Cedar » 1946 Oil i}Xi6Vs" Collection Mr. and Mrs. William D.Vogel, Mihvaukc. Jacques Villon « Cherry Tree in Bloom » 1943 Oil 28 :l / 4 X 23 6 /s" Collection Mr. and Mrs. Ira Huipt, New York Jacques Villon «Garden in Party Dress» 1948 Oil 2i 1 / 4 X28 3 / 4 " Galerie Louis Cai Jacques Villon « The Little Machine Shop» 1946 Oil 31'/., • 45" s " The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. Jacques Villon « Large Mowing-machine with Horses » 1950 Oil 38V4X57 1 /! Collection Richard Zeisler, New York Jacques Villon «Portrait of the Artist (Lc matois) » 1949 Oil 39 3 / 8 X 28 3 / 4 :. Institute, Pittsburgh Jacques Villon «Bircl Cage» 1955 Oil i8 l / 8 Xzi B /a" Galerie Louis Carre, Pari Jacques Villon «Bouvard and Pecuchet» 195-5 Oil 2iV 4 X28 3 / 4 " Galcric Louis Carre, Paris Jacques Villon « Along the Park» 1955 Oil 25 s 8 X 3i 7 /s" Galcrie Louis Carre, Pari Biographical Notes Jacques Villon 1875 31 July, born at Damville (Eure), Gaston Duchamp studied at the lycee in Rouen, began studies of law 1894 To Paris, in the Atelier Cormon 1 894-1910 Drawings for weekly newspapers, V Assiette au Beurre, Le Courrier Francais, etc.- Lived in Montmartre from 1895-1906, made engravings in black and in color 1904 Associate member of Salon d'Automne, member of the Com- mittee until 191 1 1905 Rouen, first exhibition (with Raymond Duchamp-Villon), Galerie Legrip 191 1 Adherence to cubism 1 91 2 Co-founder of the Section d'Or Exhibited in first Section d'Or.Galerie La Boetie, Paris 191 3 Participated in New York Armory show: Trees in Bloom; Little Girl at Piano; Study for Young Woman; Study for Puteaux, No. 1 ; Study for Puteaux, No. 2; Study for Puteaux, No. ); Study for Puteaux, No. 4; Study for Little Girl at Piano; Young Woman 1 914 2 August, mobilized, sent to the front in October 19 16 Exhibition in Christiania (Oslo), Norway 1919 Demobilization 1919-1922 First abstract period 1922 One-man show, Societe Anonyme, New York Exhibition with Louis Latapie, Galerie Povolozky, Paris 1921-1930 Engravings in color after the work of modern masters 1925 Last exhibition of Section d'Or, Galerie Vavin-Raspail, Paris 1928 Exhibition, Brummer Gallery, New York Exhibition of engravings in color after modern masters, Galerie Bcrnheim-Jeune, Paris 1930 Abandons engraving reproductions to devote himself exclusively to painting Exhibition, Brummer Gallery, New York 1933 Beginning of present period - return to direct study, color pre- dominating. Exhibition, Arts Club of Chicago 1934 Exhibition, Marie Harriman Gallery, New York 1935 Exhibition, Petit Palais, Paris 1936 Trip to America 1937 International exhibition in Paris. Two diplomas of honor. One gold medal (painting and engraving) Named chevalier de la Legion d'honneur 1939 First Salon des Realites Nouvelles, Galerie Charpentier, Paris 1942 Exhibition with the sculpture of Duchamp-Villon, Galerie de France, Paris 1944 Exhibition, Galerie Louis Carre, Paris 1945 Exhibition of Duchamp, Duchamp-Villon, Villon, Yale Uni- versity Art Gallery 1948 Exhibition, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Copenhagen Exhibition, Galerie Louis Carre, Paris Participation in Venice Biennale 1949 Exhibition, Louis Carre Gallery, New York Exhibition, Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston Exhibition, Arensberg Collection, Art Institute, Chicago Grand Prix, for engraving, exhibition, Lugano, Switzerland 1950 Exhibition, Phillips Gallery, Washington, D.C. Exhibition, Delaware Art Center, Wilmington Venice Biennale, Salle Jacques Villon First prize, International Exhibition of Pittsburgh, Carnegie Institute 195 1 Exhibition, Musee National d'Art Moderne, Paris 1952 Exhibition, Arts Club of Chicago 1953 Exhibition, Rose Fried Gallery, New York 1955 Exhibition, Musee Toulouse-Lautrec, Albi Exhibition, Lucien Goldschmidt, New York, publication Virgil's Bucolics, ill. by Villon, 25 full color lithographs Exhibition, Galerie Louis Carre, Paris Exhibition, Grace Borgenicht Gallery, New York 1956 Venice Biennale, first prize for painting Exhibition, Drawings, Galerie Louis Carre, Paris Raymond Duchamp-Villon Raymond Duchamp-Villon «Large Horse» 1914 Bronze 39V high Galerie Louis CarrS, Pari Raymond Duchamp-Villon was born at Damville (Eure) in 1876. His maternal grand- father, E. Nicolle, had devoted his life to engraving 'the hundred bell-towers' of the old Norman city of Rouen, and it was doubtless from this grandfather that Duchamp- Villon drew inspiration for his career. In any case, having finished his medical studies and having reached the age of twenty-six, hefelt himself irresistibly attracted toward sculpture, an art in which he had indeed had a passionate interestfora long time. His elder brother, Jacques Villon, had already abandoned the practice of law in order to devote himself to painting and, in Marcel Duchamp, the youngest of the three brothers, the same vocation had declared itself. The points of contact among the three young men served only to accentuate the independence of their characters, and if they saw the evolution of their period too clearly for them to take opposing courses, their differences of concept still resulted inclear-cut distinctionsamong them, as every observer can see. A respectful sympathy did reign among the three, but not to the point of preventing Duchamp- Villon's remark that 'We are the severest critics of one another'. During the first part of his life as an artist, he had shared the admiration in which Rodin was held by all the younger generation, but he soon understood the need to turn away from the line laid down by the sculptor of the Impressionist School. And so, between 1904 and 1906 we see Duchamp-Villon wrestling with the problem of directing his work to a more solid base than sensibility to the luminous surface. He suppresses the delicacies of modeling for the sake of the great planes which determine structure; he studies the relationship of figures— one with another, and with the forms that surround them. For us, who seethe succession of his researches, the man is already hi m self in these first efforts, just as the young Corot and the young Cezanne foretell the work they will do later in life. From 1907 to 1910 date sculptures like the Old Peasant and the Girl Seated in which, even while he seeks outthe essential directions of the planes, the artist uses rounded surfaces. In 1910, thanks to the efforts of the young Cubist group, he comes to understand how much he can accentuate the form and prevent any ambiguity as to its relationship with nature by respecting the clean and cutting edges that one sees in the Torso of a Man and, even more, in the Dancers of the following year (1911). Still, with his natural faculty of remaining faithful to himself, it is at the same time that he executes the bust of Baudelaire, where the qualities of both types of work com- plete each other harmoniously. Not until two years later, in the series of bas-reliefs: the Cat, the Parrot and above all in that magnificent panel of the Lovers does he let himself go on to the use of separated planes which he recomposes according to the needs of the space in which they are to exist and according to a conception still further liberated from the imitation of nature. In this we see an effect of the work with architecture that Duchamp-Villon had undertaken the preceding year (1912). One more step leads us to the Seated Woman of 1914, and the evolution touches its culminating point in the Horse, on which the sculptor was engaged when the war was declared, and which was to remain the subject of his meditations through- out his time in the army. Numerous drawings and studies of the subject were to modify his original conception, and they permitted him, during a furlough, to arrive at the execution of the definitive model. It is the last complete work of his career, for we must consider the Cock— for all its conciseness— as a return to ideas expressed three years previously. As to the small heads and portraits executed in the year before his death, they were regarded by him as mere studies. Sculpture was what interested Duchamp-Villon almost exclusively. Yet his activity extended to results too important to let them pass unmentioned, even in a brief examination. He had made serious studies of medicine, and when the war broke out he was attached as aide-major to the 11th Regiment of Cuirassiers. After having assured the service of the hospital of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, he was sent to the front, and it was during his time in the trenches that he contracted the fever which, after two years of suffering, brought on his death in 1918, only a few days before the armistice. 'In the notes of his that we have found,' wrote Jacques Villon, 'some are related to the conception of a Center of Surgical Instruction. Our poor friend manifested, during as before the war, a tremendously active brain.' One seesthe proof of this observation in the published extracts from his letters, in that so witty and so original piece, Les Semaphores, which he wrote in collaboration with Jean Keller, and above all in his study of the Variations in Consciousness. But the most remarkable thing that Duchamp-Villon conceived, aside from his sculpture, was unquestion- ably his work in architecture. It is necessary to consider this not as an isolated and personal thing, but as one closely bound up with the tendencies of his generation. The moment of impression- istic analysis having passed, the school which succeeded it, guided merely by its sensibility, had contributed all that it was capable of adding to our ideas, and so the men who, in 1912, were preoccupied with arriving at realizations, were proceed- ing to a new synthesis. From every side there came demands for a modern archi- tecture, one that would serve as a frame and as scaffolding for the various arts, and thus permit their cohesion in a logical group. Duchamp-Villon, whose letter of January 16, 1913, will give a clear-cut explanation of his ideas on this subject, was chosen as the man to create, at the Autumn Salon of 1912, an architectural setting which should bring together painters, sculptors, and the artists who worked in glass and with furniture. This choice was due to the character of his talent, in the first place, but we have also to see in it a testimony to the esteem in which he was held by his colleagues. The fact was that Duchamp-Villon was known as a man whose spirit was one of irreproachable probity. While holding to well-defined and clear opinions as to the tendencies of his period, he had always been hostile to those manifestations of mean and self-seeking politics which too often govern exhibitions. Duchamp-Villon was therefore completely designated to inspire con- fidence in men working in isolation, and to furnish them with the means for creating that collective movement which was becoming felt as an imperious need. The architecture which was to concentrate all the scattered efforts had to remain within the limits set by practical possibilities of realization. But the important thing, above all and basically, was to satisfy the needs of a form corresponding to con- temporary conditions of thought and construction. On these points the letter pre- viously cited contains important definitions. The general aspect of this Facade for a Residence, so appropriate for the modern streets of French and indeed foreign cities, was devoid of any element which might shock a spectator uninitiated in the more interesting ideas which governed the work; on the contrary, many visitors to the Salon were naturally attracted to the series of rooms forming the interior of the building because of this architecture which was so distinctly new — and yet 'legible' and reassuring, through its success in incorporating the Cubistic forms in a practical building. None the less, Duchamp-Villon had obtained this effect without the slightest sacri- fice of the ideas which he considered important. On the contrary, new possibilities opened up before him the further he advanced in his work. 'It is almost droll,' he said, 'the pleasure I have in arranging simple square blocks, one with another, until I have found a true relationship of forms and of dimensions.' And then the satisfaction he felt that day when, having noticed a drop of water that had frozen on the outside of his house, he stylized it into the little triangle which decorates the balustrade on the first floor of his Facade for a Residence. Thus each form had its origin in observation of nature or in the movement of thought and, at the same time, in the system of aesthetic organization whose development was being pursued by his generation. How clearly we see in this the direction taken by the great architectures of the past! A second architectural work, one which unfortunately remained merely as a model (a very complete model, however) was prepared forthe building of a college. Several passages in the artist's letters deal with this work, which already offered sure indi- cations of originality and certitude that go far beyond those which distinguished his first effort. Duchamp-Villon's purpose was to attain a style open to all men, and one whose general idea — which will remain his creation — should be utilizable for the most diverse constructions. Before a photograph of one of those formidable groups of New York skyscrapers, he exclaimed that he was seeing the cathedral of the future. When 1 said, on a certain occasion, that Duchamp-Villon lives and will live, even for those who were not acquainted with him, I was thinking of the people who, more and more, are moving on to a conception like his; the people who see the possibilities of realizing that conception, and especially those who see the interest there would be in doing so. The style he bequeathed to us is, as a matter of fact, accessible to other artists, and even while I am engaged in writing these lines, men in different countries, very far one from another, are struggling to incor- porate the living ideas of the sculptor-architect in constructions which must express the existence of a modern world. And yet it is to sculpture that we must return in order to appreciate the highest value of Duchamp-Villon's art. He himself returned to it with great satisfaction after having accomplished the architectural work imposed by his comrades of the Salon. His mind had developed in the intervening time, and in the Lovers one observes not alone a conception of sculpture purer and more evolved than what he had had pre- viously, but also depths of tenderness and of strength which he had not attained before reaching this work. With the Seated Woman he again attacks the problem of sculpture in the round, and the work is an essay on the nature of solids such as he had not written at any earlier time. And still it was for a more complete and definitive expression that he was preparing himself, when he came to the Horse. The works of Duchamp-Villon are, all of them, the result of long preparations; they are a summing up of varied and repeated studies. But not one of his sculptures appears to have been the object of deeper meditation than the Horse. The number of models marking all the stages traversed by this work indicates the development of his idea, from studies of a predominantly realistic nature, which nearly always were this sculptor's point of departure, down to the drawings announcing the end of the research by showing the almost purely mechanistic form ulain which Duchamp-Villon saw the equivalent, outside of nature, for the movement of the animal. Jacques Villon noted in a letter, 'During the war, having come to a better understanding of the horse (as a doctor attached to a regiment of Cuirassiers, he had become an accomplished horseman) he had not ceased to envisage the work he had begun, and it is by dozens that we find the sketches which modified his first model'. At the beginning, the problem had been that of the movement— the gallop or trot— of the horse. Then came the allusion, more and more evident, to the machine and to the analogy of the two forces as the characteristic of the thought of our time. And while the animal and the machine were merging into a sort of projectile (that was the word chosen by Henri Matisse, when speaking to Duchamp-Villon, a short time after the outbreak of the war), the ensemble was acquiring, more and more, a mo- numental quality— which is to be seen, however, even in the first models. At the same time, the surface modelling was disappearing, to leave bare the big planes as they played together in a fashion at once moving and logical. A definitive execution in steel was to have given the final amplitude to this aspect of the piece. From whatever angle one looks at it, the equilibrium keeps up to an equal degree, the profiles fly to their summit with lines as living as flames, or dart back in perspec- tive—as well controlled as the movement of an orchestra; the surfaces continue each another or accentuate each other masterfully, great alternations of light and shade are organized— dramatic and sonorous: Duchamp-Villon had carried through to full success a work for which no parallel had existed before. It was a thing of our period, and one with that hard and healthy beauty which justifies a period. And yet the life of this artist was far, very far, from having given everything. In con- trast with men like Masaccio, among the masters of the past, orSeurat.amongthose of our time, Duchamp-Villon is not of those artists who have had intimations of their death and who have concentrated within a few years a development to attain which others require three or four times the same span. With his sober nature, his power of calculating and his need to build on a sound foundation, Duchamp-Villon's way of constructing might be said to be that of the pyramids; if the work he has left is unshakable and impressive, we must recognize, unfortunately, that the pro- duction he counted on to continue it is lacking, and will remain lacking forever- whatever the influence of the sculptor on the later men. His death, then, seems to have nothing in common with a tragedy built up and regulated according to the law of poets, proceeding as they do with logic and with compensating movements; his death incorporates directly with all that is tragic in life, whose logic is to be discerned by no one. We are still very near to the man ; and we feel too vividly the bitterness of our I oss to be able to say what would have been the consequences of his evolution if he had lived on. Not that we can have any doubt as to a succession of fine works, for if we can deduce one thing as certain from his production, it is that we could still have expected much from him, and we know well that our conviction on this point is not due either to the great charm of his personality or to our grief over his disappear- ance. It is his whole work that makes us thus sure, and the question is whether the future will be able to reach the depths of the lesson he gave from study of his finished works. Time will be needed, perhaps (we recall Seurat, for example, and his not being appreciated at his true value until many a year after his death) but it is per- missible to hope that the oncoming generations will know how to profit by the ideas defined by Duchamp-Villon. And we will not avoid uttering an opinion on his accord with the long line of artists of his country. Their essential quality is to bear within them the feeling for art which the past has transmitted to them and to give it new forms. This is again the prime characteristic of Duchamp-Villon. Place his Torso of a Man beside one of those figures of warriors from the tympanum of Aegina at the Munich gallery. The French sculptor knew them only by reproductions if he knew them at all, but no one will fail to be impressed by the relationship of mind which brings him so close to the Greek sculptor who announces the end of the archaic age. Long before the present time, Barye had made us feel the family likeness between modern French sculpture, and that of the archaic Greeks; Duchamp-Villon worthily continues the lesson of the older man. But another school of the past furnishes us even more reasons to believe in the value of the contemporary sculptor. Compare that magnificent head of Baudelaire with the immortal figures on the Portail Royal of Chartres— it is the same art des- cending to us across the centuries, the same science of the planes as that which made up the strength of the Gothic sculptors— and the love which led Duchamp- Villon to honor the great poet of his period caused him to express in this face a sentiment of fateful grandeur in which the masters of the cathedrals might have recognized themselves. Look again at the bas-relief of the Lovers and see whether thelogicofthedesigndoesnot have the quality of inevitability of the cathedral itself. And as to that quality of renewal in the form which belongs to the essence of things for the French artist, the Horse and indeed the entire work of the sculptor's matu- rity are there to prove that he has the right to be considered as an innovator quite as much as he is a conserver. He is in his work and will be known through it. It was through the work that many (including the writer of these lines) were drawn to the man himself. Before the sober and often uncommunicative externals of works of art, it is still possible to reach intuitions as to the personal qualities of the individuals who created those works; those who can do so may still cross the abyss separating the artist from even the men nearest to him; for persons of such insight there will also be accessible the kindness, the honesty, the gay humor and the calm fervor that we knew so well in our great friend. Walter Pach From « Raymond Duchamp-Villon, sculpteur.» Povolozky, Paris, 1924 Jacques Villon « Portrait of R. Duchamp -Villon » T91I Oil Ij'^XIO 1 /," Collection Music National d'Art Moclcrnc, Paris Excerpts from a letter to Walter Pach January 16th, 1913 ... I do not believe that an epoch wholly creates its aestheticism. It finds the germ of it in the arts of preceding generations which prepared it quite unconsciously. There remains a considerable work to be accomplished in order that the idea, blindly conceived— but ready to live, be developed and in its turn leave fruitful seed. In the special case of architecture, the attempts made in France since the XVIIIth Century have not resulted in style. The buildings have the marks of the different periods of the XlXth without our being able to work out from them a well-defined tendency — as characteristic, for example, as that of furniture in the first half of the same century. That confirms me in my opinion that in an epoch of floating ideas and aspirations there can be no definitive or durable monument. It would seem that the balance between the political mechanism and the free functioning of the machinery of thought should favor the beginning of the XXth Century, and that there should really be a great desire, in our time, to give its true setting to the new social organi- zation. For the need of such a setting makes its elf felt through the confusion amidst which decorative art is struggling. You have well demonstrated that the aesthetics of the XlXth Century was dominated by painting, and that from it alone must come forth the new principles of the other arts— everybody feels this, and Cezanne will be looked on, from this point of view, as the best worker for the renascence in France. If we examine the civilizations of Egypt, Greece, Rome and France, we are struck by the unity that governs every manifestation of their spirits from the attitude of the living being to the monument — passing through furniture, costume and articles of common use or of luxury. In our day what could be more inconsistent, more of an anachronism, than a dress- suit in a Louis XV boudoir, or an electric tram on the square before the palace of Versailles? If, in certain cases these meetings are inevitable, they should be the exception, and disappear so to speak, in normal surroundings. The dress-suit and the tramway are of our time; we owe them an appropriate frame, and on the conception of it their aspect will have its influence for the relationship is evident between the forms that clothe life and the aesthetic formulas of the same epoch. It is, I think, from this fact that we should inspire ourselves in establishing a new architectural setting — not that we should try to adapt the forms and lines of even the characteristic objects of our time, which would only be a transposition of these lines and forms to other materials and therefore an error — but rather that we should tirelessly fill our minds with the relationships of these objects among themselves in order to interpret them in synthetic lines, planes and volumes which shall, in their turn, equilibrate in rhythms analogous to those which surround us. We are the victims today of our unbridled activity, and our existence ceaselessly turned toward the morrow is forcedly rapid and, so to speak, cutting. Our movements are jerky, our voluntary gestures without emphasis; the spectacles sought for by our eyes are all of motion, and the words that our minds prefer express most in the least time. From this aspect of our surroundings and many others there works out, for me, a predominance of the straight line over the curved line, a predominance pushed to the point of tyranny. At the same time, as a reaction against our era of business, where money is the sovereign master, it seems to me that simplicity, austerity even, are the indispensable virtues, and that our idea of the beautiful should be clothed in them. An art which establishes itself on these bases is ne- cessarily in absolute contradiction not only with the received ideas of the present, but with those of the past, for this past is also, at many points, the contrary of our present. You will now understand better under what influence my searches for an archi- tectural setting were made. It is the influence unconsciously felt by every true artist of the new generation. The power of the machine imposes itself and we scarcely conceive living beings any more without it. We are strangely moved by the rapid brushing by of men and things and we accustom ourselves without knowing it to perceive the forces of the former through the forces they dominate. From that to an opinion of life in which it appears to us simply under its form of higher dynamism there is only a step, which is quickly made. . . Raymond Duchamp-Villon Raymond Duchamp-Villon «Torso of a Young Man" 1910 Bronze 21'/." high Salerie Louis Carre, Paris Raymond Duchamp-Villon «Baudelaire» 1911 Bronze \5*U" high Galerle Louis Carrd. Paris Raymond Duchamp-Villon Maggy» 1912 Bronze 287«" high Galerie Louis Carrfe. Raymond Duchamp-Villon «Cat» 1913 Concrete 25" diameter Collection The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. New York Gift, Katherlne S. Dreier Estate Raymond Duchamp-Villon «Lovers» 1913 Bas-relief Lead 267<x39 3 /» 6alerie Louis CarrS, Pari Raymond Duchamp-Villon « Seated Woman" 1914 Bronze 27'/» ' high Yale University Art Gallery, Collection of the Soclete Anonyme Raymond Duchamp-Villon «Horse and Rider» 1914 Bronze 11 1 /*" high Galerie Louis Carr6. Paris Raymond Duchamp-Villon u Head of Horse» 1914 Bronze 15 3 /. high The Louise and Waller Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Biographical Notes Raymond Duchamp -Villon 1876 5 November, born Damville (Eure) 1918 7 October, died military hospital, Cannes c. 1898 Studied medicine for three years before turning to sculpture Abandoned medicine to devote himself to sculpture, self- taught 1901 First exhibition, Societe Nationale des Beaux-Arts, Paris 1901-1908 In annual exhibitions of Societe Nationale Worked first under the influence of Rodin, then Maillol First important sculpture, Old Peasant ; second, a large torso of female nude 1905 Associate member of the Salon d'Automne, later member of the Comite Exhibited annually at Salon d'Automne until 1913 1908 Salon d'Automne: Song (plaster) Portrait of a Young Girl (bronze) 1909 Salon des Independants: Old Peasant (stone bust) Portrait of a Child (plaster) Salon d'Automne: Girl seated (bronze) Song (wood) 1910 Salon des Independants: Portrait of a Man (marble) Salon d'Automne: Pastorale (plaster) In adjoining homes at Puteaux, he and Jacques Villon began open-house Sundays 1911 Baudelaire (bronze) Salon d'Automne: Wood Nymph (bronze) Baudelaire (plaster bust) Beginning of Cubist influence on his work 1912 Joined Cubists Began studies to result in Horse Exhibited with Section d'Or Salon d'Automne: Facade for a Residence, architecture and sculpture 1913 Salon d'Automne: Bas-relief (plaster) Bust (plaster) Sculpture, bas-reliefs, architecture of the ensemble Andre Mare Return to more personal expression after communal work Lovers (bas-relief) The Rider (bronze) first version of Horse 1913 Armory Show, N.Y.: Facade for a Residence (plaster) Torso (plaster) Girl of the Woods (plaster) Dancer (plaster) Baudelaire Worked on architectural sculpture for a college in Connecticut 1914 Horse, final version (bronze) Seated Woman (bronze) Exhibited Prague, Berlin, Ghent Joined French Army, doctor to 11th Cuirassiers 1916 During World War I, contracted blood poisoning Did Portrait of Professor Gosset (his doctor) during illness 1918 Died, Cannes Left unfinished manuscript, Variations de la connaissance pendant le travail d'art Retrospective Exhibitions: 1917 Independent Artists, N.Y. 1919 Salon d'Automne, Paris 1921 Exhibited henceforth with Societe Anonyme, N.Y. 1926 Retrospective des Independants, Paris (6 works) 1929 Brummer Galleries, N.Y. 1931 Galerie Pierre, Paris 1942 Galerie de France, Paris (with brothers Jacques Villon and Marcel Duchamp) 1945 Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, Conn, (with Jacques Villon and Marcel Duchamp) Marcel Duchamp M»t**i (/ilk, Jacques Villon « Portrait of Marcel Duchamp» 1 95 1 Oil 57 1 .'.X44'/8 Collection Niels Onst:id, New York Lighthouse of the Bride Buildings flung under a grey sky turning to pink, very slowly — it is in a troubled and anguishing style of conquest, where the transitory conflicts with the pompous — all this has just arisen in no time at some extreme point of the globe and there is nothing that can prevent it, besides, from melting for us at a distance into the most conventional scene of modern adventure, gold prospectors or others, as the early years of the movies have helped to fix it: haute ecole, luck, the fire of feminine eyes and lips; though in this instance it is a purely mental adventure, I get easily enough this impression of the greatness and the indigence of 'cubism'. Whoever has once caught himself in the act of believing the doctrinal affirmations from which this move- ment draws authority, of giving it credit for its scientific aspirations, of praising its constructive value, must in fact agree that the sum of research thus designated has been but a plaything for the tidal wave which soon came and put an end to it, not without upsetting from base to summit, far and wide, the artistic and moral landscape . This landscape, unrecognizable today, is still too troubled for anyone to pretend that he can rigorously untangle the deep causes of its torment: one is generally content to explain it by referring to the impossibility of building anything stable on socially undermined foundations. However expedient may be this manner of judging, which happily recalls the artist to a just appreciation of his limitations (the more and more necessary transformation of the world is other than that which can be achieved on canvas), I do not think that it should absolve us from studying the process of formation of the par- ticularly hollow and voracious wave which I have just mentioned. From the strictly historical point of view, it is very important, in order to bring this study to a proper conclusion, to consider attentively the place where the very first characteristic vibrations of the phe- nomenon chose to be recorded, in this instance the general disposition of this or that artist who has proven himself on this occasion to be the most sensitive recording instrument. The unique position of Marcel Duchamp at the spearhead of all ' modern ' movements which have succeeded each other for the last twenty-five years was, until quite recently, such as to make us deplore that the externally most important part of this work, from 1911 to 1918, rather jealously guarded its secret. If the ' tidal wave ', which was later to be so vastly disrupting, could have once begun to swell, one had certainly come to think that Duchamp must, from the start, have known much about its resources, and one suspected him rather of having opened for it some mysterious valve. But one scarcely hoped to be some day more fully enlightened as to the part Duchamp had played. Therefore the publication, in October 1934, of ninety-four documents assembled by him under the title: La Mariee mise a nu par ses celiba- taires, meme, which suddenly overturned before us this wave and afforded us a glimpse of all that is most complex in its enormous machinery, could not fail to pass for a capital event in the eyes of all who attach any importance to the determination of the great intellectual motives of our day. In a text that was destined to stress the most unfortunate aesthetic calculation, Edgar Allan Poe, after all, once expressed an admirable decision that has ever since been shared by all artists worthy of that title and still constitutes, though perhaps unconsciously for the majority of them, the most important of all directives. Poe wrote indeed that originality, except in minds of the most unusual vigor, is in no way, as many seem to believe, a matter of instinct and intuition; to find it, one must generally seek it laboriously and, though a positive merit of the highest order, it is achieved rather by the spirit of negation than by the inventive spirit. Without prejudging the degree of 'unusual force' which precisely can be the mark of a spirit such as Duchamp's, those who have been introduced to him to any extent will feel no scruples in recognizing that never has a more profound originality appeared more clearly to derive from a being charged with a more determined intention of negation. Does not all the history of poetry and ait for the last hundred years strengthen in us the conviction that we are after all less sensitive to what we are told than to what we are spared, for instance, from repeating? There are various means of repeating, from pure and simple verbal repetition, so inept, like for instance ' blue skies ' — which, when I come across it as soon as I open a book of poems, relieves me, with good reason, from the need to become aware of the context — passing through repetition, in the sphere of art, of the subject treated, fallaciously excused by the new manner of treatment, or repetition of the manner, fallaciously excused by the novelty of the subject, to repetition, in the sphere of human existence, of the pursuit of some artistic 'ideal' which requires con- tinuous application, incompatible with any other form of action. Where else, if not in the hatred we feel for this eternal repetition, can we seek the reason for the increasing attraction exercised on us by certain books which are so strangely self-sufficient that we consider their authors have discharged their indebtedness: Les Chimeres, Les Fleurs du Mai, Les Chants de Maldoior, Les Illuminations? Is it not, besides, reassuring and exemplary that, at this price, some of these authors also considered themselves free from debt? Absolute originality, from refusal to refusal, ap- pears to me to lead inevitably to Rimbaud's conclusion: ' I am a thou- sand times the richest, let us be as miserly as the sea.' This refusal, pushed to the extreme, this final negation which is of an ethical order, weighs heavily on all debates arising from a typically modern artistic production. Nothing can prevent the abundance of this pro- duction, in a given artist, from being, until this attitude changes, its very drawback. Originality nowadays is narrowly connected with rareness. And on this point, Duchamp's attitude, the only one that is perfectly uncompromising, whatever human precautions he may surround it with, remains, to the more conscious poets and painters who approach him, a subject of confusion and envy. Marcel Duchamp limits to approximately thirty-five the number of his activities in the field of plastic production, and even then he includes among them a series of achievements that an insufficiently sophisticated critical attitude would refuse to consider in one class: I mean, for instance, the act of signing some characterless large decorative panel in a restaurant and, generally speaking, that which constitutes the most obvious (and what might be the most daz- zling) part of his activities of twenty years: the various specula- tions in which he became involved through his preoccupation with those ready-mades (manufactured objects promoted to the dig- nity of objects of art through the choice of the artist) by means of which, from time to time and with complete contempt for all other media, he very proudly expressed himself. But who can truly say how much it may mean, to those who really know, a signature that has been used openly in such a parsimonious manner? An intense and fascinating light is cast by it, no longer only on the narrow object that it generally locates, but on a whole process of intellectual life. This process, a most peculiar one indeed, can achieve its full meaning and become perfectly understandable only once it has been reunited to a series of other processes, all of a causal nature and not one of which we can afford to ignore. And all this means that one's understanding of Duchamp's work and the fact that one foresees its furthest consequences can only be the result of a deep historical understanding of the development of this work. And because of the prodigious speed with which this work de- veloped, the very limited number of Duchamp's public utterances would make it necessary to enumerate them all without omitting any. I am, however, forced here to list only his more characteristic works. Duchamp's Coffee-grinder (late 1911) indicates the start of the purely personal development that interests us; compared to the guitars of the cubists, it takes on the appearance of an infernal machine. The years 1911 and 1912 indeed already reveal the full extent of Duchamp's dissidence, a dissidence that affirms itself brilliantly as much in the subject-matter as in the manner of his paintings; and one should note that the major part of his more purely pictorial work falls into these limits of time (Sad young man in a train. Nude descending a staircase. King and queen surrounded by swift nudes, King and queen crossed by swift nudes. Virgin, The passage from the virgin to the bride. Bride). It was as early as the end of 1912 that Duchamp suffered the great intellectual crisis that progressively forced him to abandon this mode of expression which seemed vitiated to him. The practice of drawing and painting appeared to him as a kind of trickery that tended towards the senseless glorification of the hand and of nothing else. The hand is the great culprit, so how can one consent to be the slave of one's own hand? It is inaccept- able that drawing and painting should today still stand where writing stood before Gutenberg came. To delight in color, which is all based on enjoyment of the sense of smell, is as wretched as to delight in line, which is based on enjoy- ment of the hand's sense. The only solution, under such conditions, is to unlearn painting and drawing. And Duchamp has never abandoned this purpose since that date; this consideration ought, I believe, to be enough to induce one to approach with a very special interest the gigantic purpose to which, once such a negation had been formulated, he nevertheless devoted his strength for over ten years: it is into the details of this purpose that the publication of these documents initiated us, a purpose unequalled in contempo- rary history and which was destined to be achieved in the huge glass (an object painted on transparent glass) entitled La Mariee mise a nu par ses celibatahes, meme and left unfinished in New York. In this work it is impossible not to see at least the trophy of a fabulous hunt through virgin territory, at the frontiers of eroticism, of philosophical speculation, of the spirit of sporting competition, of the most recent data of science, of lyricism and of humor. From 1913 to 1923, the year when Duchamp finally abandoned this work, all the paintings, whether on canvas or on glass, that would have to be included in a catalogue of his works are but research and fragmentary attempts to achieve the various parts of La Mariee mise a nu. Such indeed is the case of the Choco- late-grinder, of the Glissiere or Slide, of the Neuf moules malic, all of 1913, as well as of the 1914 Chocolate-grinder and the glass To be watched closely with one eye ior almost an hour of 1918, which latter is a variation on the Oculist witnesses that likewise are part of the general description. At most, one might class as a partial exception to this rule the composition entitled Tu m', where there appear, on the right, the three standard stops that are included here in the composition with two ready-mades, on the one hand (an enamelled hand and a ceiling-brush), and on the other hand with the shadows cast by three other ready-mades brought close together (a bicycle wheel, a corkscrew and a coat- hanger). A falling back on these ready-mades, after 1914, began to sup- plant, for Duchamp, all other forms of self-expression. It will be of great interest, some day, to explain the full meaning of all these projects, each so rigorously unexpected, in this respect, and to try to unravel the law whereby they progress. I can only recall now the Pharmacy of 1914, conceived in Rouen when Duchamp saw a snowscape (he added to a water-color, of the 'winter calendar' type, two tiny characters, one red and the other green, walking towards each other in the distance); also the ceiling of Duchamp's studio in 1915, bristling with objects such as coat-hangers, combs, weathercocks, all accompanied by some discordant inscription that served as a title or a caption (a snow-shovel was titled, in English, In advance oi the broken arm); Duchamp's birthday present to his sister, which consisted in suspending by its four corners, beneath her balcony, an open geometry-book destined to become the plaything of the seasons; the rebus composed of a nursemaid and a lion's cage (Nous nous cajolions); the latrine exhibited in 1917 at the New York Independents Show under the title Fountain, and which Duchamp was forced to withdraw after the opening, as a result of which he resigned from the Association; his adding, in 1919, a moustache to the Gioconda (LHOOQ); his 1921 window entitled Fresh Widow which was a pun on the sound's ambiguous similarity with French Window (this consisted of a small win- dow, manufactured by a carpenter after Duchamp's instructions, whose glass panes are covered with leather so that they become leather panes that must be polished) ; his 1922 window, a replica of the earlier one, but this time with a wooden base where bricks are drawn and with glass panes streaked with white like those of new- ly-built houses (La bagarre d'Austerlitz); his little 1923 bird- cage filled with pieces of white marble cut to look like cubes of sugar and through whose top there emerged a thermometer (Why not sneeze?); his design for a perfume bottle, Belle haleine — Eau de voilette; his 1925 bond on the Monte Carlo roulette (Moustiques domestiques demi-stock) ; finally Duchamp's door, described for the first time in the summer 1933 issue of Orbes as follows: 'In the apartment entirely constructed by Du- champ's hands, there stands, in the studio, a door of natural wood that leads into the room. When one opens this door to enter the room, it then closes the entrance to the bathroom, and when one opens it to enter the bathroom, it closes the entrance to the studio and is painted with white enamel like the interior of the bath- room. ('A door must be either open or closed' had always see- med to be an inescapable truth ; but Duchamp had managed to con- struct a door that was at the same time both open and closed.) One should also list contemporary with this series of activities that do not back continuity, on the one hand some optical research intended to be particularly applicable to movies, to which category belongs his famous cover design for an issue of Minotaure, as well as two different versions of a moving sphere on which a spiral is painted (the first version belongs to 1921 and the second, Rrose Selavy et moi nous estimons les ecchymoses des Esquimaux aux mots exquis, belongs to 1925-26), and, on the other hand, some verbal research in which he was more actively and particularly en- gaged around 1920 (some puns by Marcel Duchamp were published in the fifth issue of the new series of Litterature, October 1922 as well as on the front inside cover of Pierre de Massot's The wonderful book, in 1924). To this day, no cataloguing of this sort has been attempted; I there- fore feel that my own may suffice, temporarily at least (until some- body chooses, as is proper, Duchamp's ready-mades as the sub- ject of a thesis, and even this would not exhaust the topic). But we still have to consider rather closely, likewise for the first time, Marcel Duchamp's monumental work beside which all his other works seem to gravitate almost like satellites, I mean La Mariee mise a nu pat ses celibataires, meme. The collection of docu- ments that Duchamp published some years after abandoning this work in an unfinished state casts some appreciable light on its genesis, though this light itself cannot be truly enjoyed without some additional information. To recognize the objective value of La Mariee mise a nu, one requires, in my opinion, some Ariadne's thread that one would seek in vain among the thickets, whether written or drawn, that are contained within this strange green box of published documents. And it is necessary first to go back to a reproduction of the glass object before one can identify the various elements that constitute the whole, before one can be- come aware of their respective parts in the functioning of the whole. I. Bride (or female hanged body) reduced to what one might call its skeleton in the 1912 canvas that bears this title. — 2. Ins- cription lor the top (made out of the three pistons lor droits surrounded by a kind of milky way). — 3. Nine malic moulds, or Eros machine, or Bachelor machine, or Cemetery lor uniiorms and liveries (state trooper, cuirassier, policeman, priest, bellhop, department-store delivery-man, flunkey, morti- cian's assistant, station-master). — 4. Slide (or chariot or sleigh, standing on runners that slide in a gutter). — 5. Water mill. — 6. Scissors. — 7. Sieve (or drainage slopes). — 8. Chocolate- grinder (bayonet, cravat, rollers, Louis XV chassis). — 9. Re- gion of the splash (not shown). — 10. Oculist witnesses. — II. Region of the gravity manager (or gravity caretaker, not shown). — 12. Pulls. — 13. Bride's clothes. The above described morphological analysis of the Mariee mise a nu allows a very summary idea of the physiological data which determined its elaboration. Actually, we find ourselves here in the presence of a mechanistic and cynical interpretation of the pheno- menon of love : the passage of woman from the state of virginity to that of non-virginity taken as the theme of a fundamentally a-senti- mental speculation, almost that of an extra-human being training himself to consider this sort of operation. Here the rigorously logical and expected are married to the arbitrary and the gratuitous. And one very soon abandons oneself to the charm of a kind of great modern legend where everything is unified by lyricism. I will limit myself again to facilitating one's reading of it by very briefly describing the relationship with life that seems to me to unite the thirteen principal component parts of the work that I have just enumerated. The bride, by means of the three nets above her (the draft pistons) exchanges orders with the bachelor machine, orders that are transmitted along the milky way. For this, the nine malic moulds, in the appearance of waiting, in red lead, have by definition 're- ceived' the lighting gas and have taken moulds of it; and when they hear the litanies of the chariot recited (the refrain of the bachelor machine), let this lighting gas escape through a given number of capillary tubes placed towards their top (each one of these tubes, where the gas is drawn out, has the shape of a standard stop, that is to say the shape that is adopted, as it meets the ground, by a thread one meter long that has previously been stretched horizontally one meter above ground and has then been suddenly allowed to fall of its own accord). The gas, being thus brought to the first sieve, continues to undergo various modifica- tions in its state until in the end, after passing through a kind of toboggan or corkscrew, it becomes, as it comes out of the last sieve, explosive fluid (dust enters into the preparation of the sieves: dust-raising allows one to obtain four-month dust, six- month dust, etc. . . . Some varnish has been allowed to run over this dust in order to obtain a kind of transparent cement). During the whole of the operation just described, the chariot (formed of rods of emancipated metal) recites, as we have seen, its litanies ('Slow life. Vicious circle. Onanism. Horizontal. Tin for cans, ropes, wire. Wooden pulleys for eccentrics. Monotonous fly-wheel. Beer pro- fessor.') while at the same time performing a to-and-fro motion along its gutter. This movement is determined by the regulated fall of the bottles of Benedictine (whose density oscillates) that are axled on the water-mill's wheel (a kind of water jet comes in a semi-circle from the corner above the malic moulds). Its effect is to open the scissors, thus producing the splash. The liquid gas thus splashed is thrown vertically; it goes past the oculist witnesses (the dazzling of the splash) and reaches the region of the pulls (of gunfire) corresponding to the reduction of the objective by an 'average skill' (a schematic version of any object). The gravity manager, lacking, ought to have been balanced on the bride's dress and thus suffered the countershock of the various episodes of a boxing bout taking place beneath him. The bride's dress, through whose three planes the mirroric return of each drop of the dazzled splash takes place, was intended to be conceived as an application of the Wilson-Lincoln system (that is to say by making the most of some of the refractory properties of glass, after the manner of those portraits 'that, seen from the right, reveal Wilson, then, seen from the left, reveal Lincoln'). The inscription for the top, supported by a kind of flesh-colored milky way, is obtained, as we have seen, by means of the three draft pistons that consist of three perfect squares cut out of bunting and are supposed to have changed their shape as they flapped in the wind. Through these pistons are trans- mitted the orders that are intended to reach the pulls and the splash, in the last of which the series of bachelor operations reaches its conclusion. One should observe that the chocolate-grinder (whose bayonet acts as a support for the scissors), in spite of the relatively important space that it occupies in the glass, seems to be specially intended to qualify bachelors concretely, by applying the funda- mental adage of spontaneity: 'a bachelor grinds his own choco- late'. This commentary has but one object, to furnish a spatial basis for the orientation of anyone who questions the image of La Mariee mise a nu and allows himself to be intrigued to the point of classifying according to some order the loose papers of the magni- ficent 1934 box. But to this commentary one should add several others: philosophical, poetical, expressing faith or suspicion, novel- istic, humorous, etc. Probably only the erotic commentary on La Mariee mise a nu cannot be ignored now. Fortunately, this com- mentary exists: written by Duchamp himself, it consists of a ten- page text that anyone who wants can today afford to seek and find among the ninety-four documents in the green box. I quote it too briefly, but may this extract inspire some reader to study the whole admirable document and thus reward him for the effort I have de- manded of him when introducing him to the analytical details that alone could initiate him into the life of this kind of anti-picture: 'La Mariee mise a nu par ses celibataires. 2 principal ele- ments: — 1. The Bride. — 2. The Bachelors. . . As the bachelors are intended to serve as an architectonic base for the Bride, the latter becomes a kind of apotheosis of virginity. A steam-engine on a masonry pediment. On this brick base, a solid foundation, the bachelor machine, all grease and lubricity (to be developed). — Just where, as one still ascends, this eroticism reveals itself (and it must be one of the major cogs of the bachelor machine), this tormented cog gives birth to the desire-part of the machine. This desire-part then changes its mechanical status, from that of a steam engine to that of internal combustion engine. And this desire-motor is the last part of the bachelor machine. Far from being in direct contact with the Bride, the desire-motor is separated from her by a gilled cooler. This cooler is to express graphically that the Bride, instead of being a mere asensual icicle, warmly rejects, not chastely, the bachelors' rebuffed offers. . . In spite of this cooler there exists no solution of continuity between the bachelor machine and the Bride. But the bonds will be electrical and will thus express her being stripped: an alternating process. If necessary, short circuit. form to the laws of the equilibrium of weights, a bright metal stan- chion might nevertheless represent the virgin's attachment to her girl-friends and her parents. . . Basically, the Bride is a motor. But before being a motor that transmits timidity-power, she is this very timidity-power which is a kind of petrol, a gasoline of love that, distributed among the very weak cylinders, within the reach of the sparks of its constant life, serves to achieve the final flowering of this virgin who has reached the goal of her desire. (Here the desire-cog will occupy less space than in the bachelor machine. It is on- ly the string that binds the bouquet.) The whole graphical stress leads up to the cinematic blossoming which, determined by the electrical stripping of the clothes, is the halo of the Bride, the sum-total of her splendid vibrations. Graphically, it is not at all a matter of symbolis- ing in a lofty painting this happy goal, the Bride's desire; but more clear in all this blossoming, painting will be an inventory only of the elements of this blossoming, elements of the sex-life imagined by the desiring Bride. In this blossoming, the Bride reveals herself in two appearances: the first is that of her being stripped by the bache- lors, while the second is that of the Bride's own volitional imagina- tion. On the coupling of these two appearances of pure virginity, on their collision, all the blossoming depends, the higher whole and crown of the composition. Therefore one must elaborate: firstly, the blossoming in the stripping by the bachelors; secondly, the blossoming in the stripping imagined by the Bride; thirdly, once these two graphical elaborations have been achieved, one must find their reconciliation which must be the blossoming without any causal distinction.' I think it is unnecessary to insist on all the absolute novelty that is hidden within such a conception. No work of art seems to me, up to this day, to have given as equitable scope to the rational and the irrational as La Mariee mise a nu. And even its impeccable dia- lectical conclusion, as one has just seen, assures it an important place among the most significant works of the twentieth century. What Marcel Duchamp, in a caption to be found amongst his notes, has called a glass delay, 'a delay in all the general sense that is possible, a glass delay as one says a prose poem or a silver cuspi- dor,' has not finished being a landmark whereby one can truly classify everything that artistic routine may yet try to achieve wrongly as advance. It is wonderful to see how intact it manages to keep its power of anticipation. And one should keep it luminously erect, to guide future ships on a civilization which is ending. 'The Bride. — In general, if this Bride motor must appear as an apotheosis of virginity, that is to say of ignorant desire, white desire (with a point of malice) and if it does not graphically need to con- Andre Breton From Minotaure, No 6. Paris, 1935. Rendezvous du Dimanche 6 Fevrier 1916 a l h 3/U apres-midi porte, des maintenant par grande quantite, pourront faire valoir le clan oblong qui, sans oter aucun traversin ni contourner rnoins de grelots, va remettre. Deux fois seulement, tout eleve voudrait traire, quand il facilite la bascule disseminee; mais, comme quelqu'un demonte puis avale des dechirements nains nombreux, soi compris, on est oblipe d'entamer plusieurs grandes horloges pour obtenir un tiroir a bas age. Conclusion: apres maints efforts en vue du peigne, quel dommageJ tous les fourreurs sont partis et signifient riz. Aucune demande ne nettoie 1' ignorant ou scie teneur; toutefois, etant donnees quelques cages, c'eut une profonde emotion qu'executent toutes colle3 alitees. Tenues, vous auriez manque si s'etait trouvee la quelque prononciation Ut. )hU\h H flatten 'izoiid tttwrtimun^tmJ ar^ *io$i>nci- am d-^tw sulfa <// wufat /itJSJ/u/ /rrt, ru^ t g||gjj|£ fUJ/t . * Tdtc cLc^C^ fkyik^cjL^trry-^ fuzsitnJuf-c . Feinture de precision, beaute d 1 indifference Marcel Duchamp ((The Chess Players » 1910 Oil 45x57Va" The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp «The Artist's Father» 1910 Oil 36 3 /»x28'/e The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp « Yvonne and Magdeleine torn in Tattersi) 1911 Oil 23'/2- 28V<." The LouUe and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp « The Sonata » 1911 Oil 57x4472" The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp « Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 1» 1911 Oil 37 3 / 4 x 23V2" The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp ((Portrait of Chess Playerso 1911 Oil 39 3 /« x 39 3 A The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp «Le Passage de la Vierge a la Marieen 1912 Oil 23 3 /a> 21'/* Collection The Museum of Modern Art, New York Marcel Duchamp «The Bride I) 1912 Oil 35 l /»x21 3 /a The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum of Art Marcel Duchamp « Why not sneeze Rose Selavy ?» 1921 Ready-made V h " high The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, Philadelphia Museum or i Marcel Duchamp ((Chocolate Grinder, No. 2 » 1914 Oil 25'/2X21'/«" The Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection. Philadelphia Museum of Art Biographical Notes Marcel Dachamp 1887 28 July, born Blainville, near Rouen brother of painters Jacques Villon, Suzanne Dachamp, and sculptor Raymond Duchamp-Villon attended school, Rouen librarian, Bibliotheque Ste. Genevieve, Paris 1904 studied painting, Academie Julian, Paris 1910 painting, Portrait of Father, exhibited Salon d'Automne first Chessplayers 1911 formally joined Cubists first sketches and first oil for Nude Descending a Staircase The Coffee Grinder painted Portrait of Chess Players 1912 Nude Descending a Staircase, No 2 exhibited with Section d'Or, Paris painted The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes Munich: The Virgin, The Bride 1913 Cemetery of Uniforms and Liveries, first pencil study Boxing match. Chocolate Grinder, No 1 Armory Show, New York: The King and Queen Surrounded by Swift Nudes Portrait of Chess Players Nude Descending a Staircase Nude (sketch) 1913 Water Mill within Glider (in Neighboring Metals), first painting on glass 1914 Paris, painted Bachelors created first 'ready-mades', Pharmacy; bottle-rack Chocolate Grinder, No 2 1915 left Paris for New York 1915-1923 worked on glass, La mariee mise a nu par ses celibataires, meme 1916 Nude Descending a Staircase, No 3, made especially for Walter and Louise Arensberg ready-made. Ball of twine ready-made, Girl with Bedstead (Apolinere Enameled), 1916-1917 founding member of the Society of Independent Artists, Inc. 1935 1937 published reviews, The Blind Man, Rong-wrong sent ready-made Fountain, porcelain urinal, to first exhibition of Independent signed it R. Mutt, rejected by executive committee, from which he resigned quasi-Dada group with Picabia, Man Ray, Jean Crotti mural painting, Tu m' to Argentina to Paris, ready-made vial, 50 cc. Air de Paris La Joconde with moustache: LHOOQ -visual and literal pun New York, with Katherine S. Dreier, organized the Society Anonyme, first museum of modern art birth of ROSE SELAVY in New York Revolving Glass (Apareil Rotatif, Optique de Precision) New York, with Man Ray, published one issue of New York Dada constructed object Why not sneeze? Paris, exhibited in international exhibition organized by Dadaists, Galerie Montaigne began creation of anagrams, word games left La mariee mise a nu ■ ■ ■ unfinished, to devote himself to chess and experiments in optics associated with the surrealists, Paris produced film, Anemic Cinema Paris wrote book on chess organized exhibition of modern art for Societe Anonyme, Brooklyn Museum -1927 installed Brancusi exhibit, Brummer Gallery, New York, and Arts Club of Chicago started making roto-reliefs made the Box, portfolio containing 93 documents in facsimile bookcover for Jarry's TJbu Roi, bookbinding executed by Mary Reynolds first one-man show, Arts Club of Chicago published Rrose Selavy: Oculisme de Precision organized surrealist exhibition in New York with Andre Breton published suitcase with reproductions, Boite-en-valise ■1944 New York, with David Hare, Andre Breton, Max Ernst, edited VW, surrealist review International surrealist exhibition, Paris; contributed 'Rain Room' and 'Labyrinth' made cover for catalogue became American citizen Selected Bibliography Jean Adhemar. Jacques Villon. Oeuvre grave. Louis Carre, Paris, 1954. Guillaume Apollinaire. Les peintres cubistes. Figiii'ere, Paris, 191 ). Dore Ashton. Jacques Villon, 'Father oj modern printmakiug '. Art Digest, New York, September if, tor;. Jacqueline Aubert et Charles Perussaux. Jacques I 'Won; catalogue de son ceuvre grave. Editions Paul P route, Paris, 19 jo. Andre Ereton. Le surrealisms et la peinture. Brentano's, New York, '94J- Andre Breton. Anthologie de 1' humour uoir. Editions du Sagittaire, Paris, 1940. Collection of the societe anonyme. Catalogue. Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, 19JO. Pierre Courthion. Decomposition et recomposition de I'espace. AA' e si'ecle, Paris, January 19 J2. Bernard Dor ival. Les etapes de la peinture franfaise contemporaine, I ~ol. II. Paris, 1944. KatherineS.Dreier. Western Art and the new Era. NewYork, Brentano' s , 192). Arthur Jerome Eddy. Cubists and Post-Impressionism. Chicago, A. C. Ale Clurg e~ Co., 1914. Charles Estienne. Jacques I 'Won. Art d'aujourd'hui, Paris, December 1949. James Fitzsimmons. Jacques \ 'Won. Arts and Architecture, Los Angeles, September 19;). Waldemar George. Jacques Villon et le cubisme francais. Le Peintre, Paris, February ij, 19JI. Cleve Gray. Jacques I 'Won. Profits No. }. Paris, April 19J3. George Heard Hamilton. Duchamp, Duchamp-X 'Won, Villon. Bulletin of the Associates in Fine Arts at Yale University, New Haven, March 1945. George Heard Hamilton. The Dialectic of later Cubism: Villon's Jockey. Magazine oj Art, New York, November 1048. Jacques Lassaigne. E/oge de Jacques Villon. Manuel Bruker, Paris, 19; f. Jacques Lassaigne. Developpement de Feeuvre de Jacques Villon. Histoire de la peinture moderns, Skira, Geneve, Paris, 19JO. Jacques Lassaigne. Jacques Villon on la Constance. Revue de la Pense'e franfaise, New York, Montreal, November 1910. Andre Lhote. Cubisme. Art d'aujourd'hui, Paris, March 19 jo. William S. Lieberman. Jacques I 'Won: His graphic Art. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, I9J>- Rene Massat. Jacques Villon. Cahiers d'Art, Paris, lf}i. Jerome Mellquist. Jacques Villon, Maitre de Puteaux. Documents, No. 3, Geneve, December 19JO. Jerome Mellquist. Jacques \ 'Won. L'Oeil, Lausanne, February 19JJ. Raymond Mortimer. Jacques Villon. Horizon, No. XII, London, August >94>- Walter Pach. I Won. Societe Anonyme, New York, 1921. Walter Pach. The Masters oj Modern Art. B. IF". Huebsch, New York, 1924. Walter Ykcw. Queer Thing, Painting. Harper, New York, 19)8. Walter Pach. Thus is Cubism cultivated. Art News, New York, May 1949. Maurice Raynal. Peinture moderne. Skira, Geneve, Paris, New York, 19;). Rene- Jean. Jacques I Won. Collection «Initier», Brauu, Paris, 194,. Rene- Jean. Devant les tableaux de Jacques I 'Won. Arts de France, Paris, February 1948. Henri-Pierre Roche. Souvenirs sur Marcel Duchamp. La Nouvelle Revue Franfaise, Paris, June 19 j). Winthrop Sargeant. Dado's Daddy. Lije Magazine, NewYork, April 28, I9!2. Toti Scialoja. Jacques Villon. L' ' Immagine, Rome, 1948. Lionello Venture La peinture contemporaine. Ulrica Hoepli, Milan, n. d. View. Marcel Duchamp Number. New York, March 194J. Jacques Villon, Lyonel Feininger. Preface by James S. Plant. Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston, 1949. Acknowledgement In addition to those who have made this exhibition possible through their generous loans, thanks are also and in particular due to Marcel Duchamp. The idea of grouping the work by the three brothers was his. We are also indebted to him for the plan and design of the catalogue as well as the choice of the texts. His advice in the selection of the exhibits and help in assembling them have made the exhibition a realization.